


a man's home is his castle, his guests his royalty.

by rockygetsrolling



Series: the bizarre and beautiful life of james w. gordon [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: (But not in the way you might be thinking), Antics and Hijinks, Area Man Bonds With A Team Of Superpowered Beings: More At Seven, Comic Book Science, Detective Work, Gen, Starro Is Actually Jarro, The Northern Lights, Unconventional Birthday Gifts, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-10-12 22:41:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20572112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockygetsrolling/pseuds/rockygetsrolling
Summary: Sometimes life gives you a little brother who is a) bigger than you, b) an actual billionaire, and c) a completely off-the-shits crazy vigilante. This is fine. This Jim can handle.It's when said little brother invites his superpowered friends over that things get interesting.OR: Jim interacts with the Justice League, with two surprising relationships that are older than the one he has with Bruce.





	1. i've come too far and can't get home.

“Good evening, Commisioner,” a voice says behind Jim.

It’s not Batman’s voice, or at least not the Batman he knows.

“Good evening,” he replies. “How are you, J’onn?”

Batman, the false one standing behind him, hums slowly. “How did you know?”

“B never says hello. And you’re leaning a bit too far forwards.”

J’onn paces up to stand beside him. “What else?”

“Ears are a little bit too curved. And there’s no points on the edges of the outer wings right now. It’s not something anyone else would notice, though, so I wouldn’t stress it too much.”

J’onn hums softly, not the deep _Hnn_ of Bruce when he’s listening. This sound is lighter, but it sounds just as tired, just as ancient. “I’m sure the point is less about accuracy and more about terror.”

“As long as you get the voice right and the suit fairly accurate, you should be okay.”

“Duly noted.”

Jim crunches down on the end of his candy cigarette thoughtfully. He’d quit smoking about three years ago, just after Damian arrived, but old habits preferred that he still hold something between his lips. “Where’s B?”

“He was injured in an off-world mission. He asked me to take up the mantle for the time being, since the children are all busy at the moment.”

Jim sniffles against the harsh December wind. “Yeah, smart call on his part. There’s no way I’m calling Dick about taking up Batman, not while he’s on his honeymoon.”

J’onn huffs a short laugh. “No, I’d imagine he wouldn’t enjoy that.”

Jim sneezes. 

“Bless you.”

“Thanks.” He casts a glance to J’onn. “Do Martians get cold?”

“Not typically, no. Do humans?”

That’s a joke question, and Jim knows it, but he answers anyway. “Only when our batteries aren’t charged.”

J’onn chuckles again before lapsing into serious stillness. “Is there a case you’re currently working?”

“Yes.” Jim pulls the file out of his coat and hands it to J’onn, who takes it out and proceeds to read it slowly, meticulously piecing things together bit by bit.

That’s the thing about the Justice League: it holds ownice some of the world’s greatest minds, some of the most powerful people, and it’s moments like this that Jim is reminded of it. The only people who might be the better detectives outside the Batfamily are J’onn, Barry, and Diana, who have some of the most tactical minds Jim has ever seen. Add that to J’onn’s ability to literally envision crimes and to communicate telepathically with other people, and you have possibly the greatest detective in the universe.

Jim holds these thoughts private, however, because no matter who the true champion of detection is, in Jim’s mind it will always be Bruce.

J’onn hums thoughtfully and nods. “Yes, possibly,” he mutters.

“Pardon me?”

“Ah.” J’onn clears his throat. “Bruce and I are psychically connected at the moment, for communication purposes. Just sharing some feedback.”

“I see.”

Jim turns out to look at the city, twinkling against the inky black of the sky. The thought of someone talking to him in his own head is a bit uncomfortable to say the least, but J’onn seems unbothered—it was how his people interacted, after all, before their unfortunate demise. Jim always feels a rush of affection for J’onn for that, because J’onn lost so much, and yet he still believes in good, _fights_ for good, for people of an entire other world.

J’onn closes the file. “I’ll get started right away,” he says, handing it back to Jim. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_,” Jim replies, smiling. “Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Tell B to be careful, and that I hope he’s okay?”

J’onn’s face softens. “I think I can do that.”

He turns away, to the ledge, when Jim speaks again.

“And J’onn?”

J’onn looks over his shoulder.

“If you ever want to come by my place, if you ever want to talk to someone, my door is always open.”

J’onn is still and silent before offering a small, almost frightened smile. “Thank you, Commissioner—”

“It’s Jim. Call me Jim.”

The smile widens. “Thank you, Jim.”

Jim blinks, and J’onn is gone, just as unnaturally as Bruce does it.

“Well, at least he’s got that down pat,” Jim says out loud, and he throws the switch for the signal.

The sky goes dark.

Later, Jim finds his kitchen light on, and a melancholic figure made of otherworldly flesh and ruby-glowing eyes. 

Jim smiles at him like an old friend.

“I hope you like chicken noodle soup.”

J’onn smiles back.

_you knew when this would be done / wish you’d never play with guns_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song this chapter is based on: "play with guns" by seafret


	2. don't leave me tongue tied, don't wave no goodbye

“This was a bad idea,” Jim says. His grin doesn’t help his case.

Hal laughs as he shoots skyward, Jim in his arms, clutching him like a lifeline. “Come on, Jiminy, it’s not like I’m gonna let you fall. Well, not on purpose anyway.”

“How reassuring of you.”

“Hey, at least I don’t vanish on you for no reason.”

“Oh, there’s a reason. It’s called dramatics.”

Hal cackles then, and Jim smiles. It’s been way too long since they’ve spent time together, considering Jim’s been busy with cases and work and Hal’s been off-world for almost three months. To make up for it, Hal had promised a so-called view—“Completely unforgettable,” he had said—and Jim feels inclined to a night off for once.

“Doesn’t B hate that you hang out with me?” Hal asks as they finally touch down somewhere just north of Niagara Falls.

“He does, but there isn’t much he can do about it. Besides, he doesn’t actually hate your guts. You just get on his nerves occasionally.”

“And he has a reputation to maintain?” Hal flashes a smarmy grin. 

“Exactly.”

Hal snickers and shakes his head. “No Lanterns in Gotham, but Gothamites can hang out with Lanterns.”

“And occasionally those Lanterns leave trick smoke bombs in my office desk drawer.”

Hal looks at him, eyebrows raised. “When did _that_ happen?”

“Jay brought Kyle to the MCU once.”

Hal smacks his shoulder. “See, that’s _your_ fault for letting them in—”

“They were reporting a crime!” Jim laughs.

“So you let them in?!”

Jim swings an arm over Hal’s shoulders and pulls him down from where he’s floating, dramatically holding a hand out in front of him. “It‘s literally my job, kiddo.”

Hal eyes him sharply. “Listen, calling Bruce kiddo is one thing—”

“You’re younger than Bruce, so that makes me legally allowed to call you kiddo.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“It is now.”

“Keep talking smack and I’ll take you home.”

Jim blows hot air into his palms. “You say that like it’s a punishment. It’s freezing out here.” He looks out into the distance from the cliff that they’re perched on. “Remind me again why we’re here.”

“Dude, I told you already. The view’s gonna be incredible.”

“Is it, Hal? Is it really?”

“Would I lie to you?”

Jim stares at him, completely deadpan.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like that. It’s like getting the Bat-Glare. Like, he’s not actually glaring at you, but it’s close enough that you can feel his rage.”

“That’s what I was going for.”

Hal shivers, and if it hadn’t been for the Lantern’s protective suit, Jim would’ve thought it was from the cold. “Well, you achieved it.”

“Let’s be real for a minute, why do you think Bruce is so good at that? He stole that one from me.”

“Sure.”

Jim shoves his hands deep into his pockets and gives a full-body shudder. “Hal, this is ridiculous—”

“It’s gonna start soon.”

“Harold.”

“James.”

“What exactly is _it?_”

Hal points upwards. “That.”

Jim follows his finger and feels the air leave his lungs.

Stretching high above them, scattered across the star-dotted sky, soft waves of feathery blue-green light dance, the edges tipped with pink and violet.

“Holy…”

Hal grins. “The _aurora borealis_, my friend. The northern lights. The most beautiful natural phenomenon in existence, if I do say so myself.”

Jim can’t tear his eyes away to save his life. The lights are hypnotizing, and so damn beautiful he feels like he could cry. He wants to touch them, to feel them spiral around him and engulf him in their magic. He wonders if they’re hot or cold, or if they’re something else, something beyond the descriptive powers of humanity.

“It’s just…” he starts, but he can’t bring himself to finish.

Hal eyes him studiously. “You okay, man?”

Jim blinks, and he feels a tear trace down his face. “Yeah.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim watches Hal’s face soften. “Oh my God, dude.”

“Holy _shit_, Hal,” Jim manages. “Holy shit.”

Hal laughs. “I know it’s not your birthday quite yet, but I figured this was close enough.”

Jim’s head snaps to Hal in surprise. “What?”

“It’s January 3rd,” Hal answers patiently. A teasing smile risks the ends of his lips. “You know, two days before your birthday? The big five-two?”

Jim blinks once, then it clicks. “Holy shit, I’m old,” he groans, and Hal explodes into laughter, so hard and suddenly that he doubles over, nearly faceplanting into the snow with the force of it. 

“Hal, this isn’t funny,” Jim says seriously. “Hal, I’m getting old. Hal.”

Hal slaps Jim’s shoulder. “Look, man, you’re only as old as your arteries.”

Jim inhales slowly through his nose. “_Fuck_,” he whispers. “Hal, my arteries are ancient.”

“Well, I love you anyway.” Hal slides an arm around Jim’s shoulders and pulls him close, against the heat of the Green Lantern suit and the comfort of a friend beside him. High above them, the star-dotted sky hums with light and life, and Jim decides that the cold isn’t that bad after all.

“Hal?”

“Yo.”

“Thank you for this.”

Hal smiles and droops his head against Jim’s. “Hey, man. That’s what friends are for.”

_take me to your best friend’s house / go around this roundabout, oh yeah_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song this chapter is based on: "tongue tied" by grouplove.


	3. this summer i hear the drumming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i don't like this chapter very much and i know it's very rushed but i hope you guys like it anyway!

“Ready for me to sound like an asshole?”

“Always.”

“Are you gonna finish that?”

Jim looks up at Barry in all his blonde, blue-eyed, Prince-Charming-smile glory. “My guy.”

Barry shrugs. “Look, you’ve been staring at the egg more than the food on your plate. I’m just asking.”

“The egg” is Artyom Yezchkoff, Russian professional con artist and hacker that Barry and Jim have been tailing for upwards of a week now. Bruce is working a case with Helena B. in Rome as of right now, and the rest of the Batfamily has their own things to do.

So Jim took the hit. It’s not the first time.

It is his first time, however, dealing with a speedster who doesn’t know when to say when with the Bluebird Diner specialty menu.

“Barry, if I give you this, will you stop doing whatever it is you were doing two seconds ago.”

Barry pops a few of Jim’s fires. “What was I doing?”

His fingers begin to rattle across the table at unimaginable speeds, and Jim slaps his wrist lightly. “_That._ Stop it.”

Barry retracts his hand and holds it to his chest. “Rude.”

“It’s noticeable. Which is the exact opposite of what we need right now.”

“Right, right.” Barry grabs Jim’s burger and takes an irreverently huge bite from it. “Hey, if the egg hunt goes rotten, do we have backup?”

“You’re only just asking me this now?”

“I mean, I figured we wouldn’t need it, but it never hurts.”

Jim takes a long pull from his coffee. Thankfully, Barry had yet to touch that. “I have some of my officers on speed dial and a certain contact of mine ready with some more…_interesting_ forms of backup.”

Barry raises his eyebrows. “Oh, really?” He leans forward, very obviously intrigued. “Am I allowed to ask who?”

“Ms. Geri Powers. She owes me a favor. Or seventeen.”

Barry whistles. “Geri Powers of Powers Inc.? How’d you get her in your wheelhouse?”

“It’s a long story with far too many moving pieces.” He looks up. “The egg is rolling.”

They both watch with well-trained eyes as Yezchkoff rises from his seat at the bar, pays at the register, and leaves. Jim sends a cursory message to his officers on the outside: _Y is moving northbound toward capital ave, be alert._

“Let’s go,” he says, sliding from the booth with Barry just behind him. He sends a wink to Alicia, the register worker, who winks back; they both know full well that Jim will pay his tab in due time. No one stops them as they step out into the street.

“Christ,” Jim mutters, pulling his coat tighter around himself. “Why the hell is it so damn windy in this city?”

“You can have my coat--”

“No, it’s fine, that’s just my constant internal monologue.”

Yezchkoff passes by one of the patrol units--Number 617, manned by Officers Otto Schmidt and Tom Taylor, who both shoot Jim a thumbs up before they peel out after he passes by.

“What kind of fighter is this guy?” Jim asks.

“Hand-to-hand, heavyweight kind of dude. I can take care of the fighting. It’s finding the probable cause we have to worry about.”

Yezchkoff turns left onto Aaron Lane, and that’s how Jim knows what the probable cause is.

“He’s carrying a backpack and is heading onto one of the busiest streets in Gotham. Either he’s about to try and make a deal, or he’s been hired for something of the more disastrous kind.”

They follow him down the street, past people of all kinds, the buzz of Geri’s unit flitting in his ear every now and then. Yezchkoff is good: he doesn’t look behind him, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t fiddle nervously. He either knows he’s being followed and is hiding it, or is so good at his job that he knows better than to show a trace of doubt.

He rounds a corner into an alley, and Jim knows what he’s doing. 

“Flash yourself around the corner. He’s heading towards Wayne Tower.”

“What does that mean for us?”

“It means he’s not here to make a deal.”

Barry vanishes in a sharp gust of wind, and Jim hunkers down harder against the January cold. He follows Yezchkoff into the alley and isn’t even a little bit surprised when he finds him at a dead end, a gun already drawn and pointing.

“Ztop,” he rumbles. “Put your handz up.”

Jim does, casually, nonchalantly. “With all due respect, this would be much easier if you didn’t decide to bomb Wayne Tower. This whole thing could’ve been avoided.”

Yezchkoff snarls. “Who told? Waz eet Roman? He zet me up?”

Jim shrugs. “Nah, man. But, as the kids these days say, you just played yourself.”

“Vat?”

A second and a blur of red later, Yezchkoff is pinned neatly to a wall by Flash, the backpack open on the ground, exposing a stack of C-4 pipe bombs.

“Talk about a pipe dream,” Barry cracks.

It’s awful, that this is the reality they face, but of course Barry finds a way to make it a little more bearable. So Jim slips on a pair of gloves from his pocket, gives Yezchkoff a glare, and taps into the rado chatter.

“Y has been secured. Gomez, come and get ‘im.”

And if Barry looks a bit too prideful when Yezchkoff is loaded into a police van, a bomb squad carefully taking apart the destructive devices in his backpack, Jim lets him feel that pride. Because frankly, he feels it too.

_should’ve been done long ago / how can you run when you know?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song this chapter is based on: "ohio" by crosby, stills, nash, and young.


	4. i'm just out to find the better part of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's been 84 years but i'm back with more.

“Sorry.”

Jim offers a soft smile. “What on Earth are you sorry for?”

Clark shrugs. “Bothering you, I suppose. Since it’s so late--”

“Clark, you’re never a bother. What’s the matter?”

It’s close to midnight on a Thursday in mid-January. Snowflakes are drifting with gradual patience toward the ground, some landing on rooftops and streetlights and the head and shoulders of the world’s mightiest hero. Said hero is hovering quietly outside of Jim’s bedroom window, looking every bit like a sheepish, frightened child asking a parent to check for monsters under the bed.

Clark’s not worried about monsters, though, Jim can see it in his eyes.

“It’s really about Bruce. I’m worried about him.”

Jim sighs slowly and stands aside. “Come inside, kid, it’s cold out.”

Clark laughs weakly. “I can’t feel cold, Jim.”

“Come inside anyway. I have some leftovers in the fridge from the other night.”

Clark drifts inside and closes the window behind him, slowly, like he’s trying not to distrub the almost-holy silence that comes with falling snow. “I’m sorry.”

“_Don’t_ be,” Jim says again, placing a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “Just come on down, yeah? Tell me what’s going on.”

When the Kryptonian turns his otherworldly blue eyes toward Jim, he feels a shudder trace his body. This is the most powerful man in the world, a man who could toss the planet out of orbit if he felt so inclined. Yet here he is, standing in fron of Jim, an average man, and looking at him like maybe, somehow, Jim has the answers to the questions that they’ve both been asking themselves since they were unbearably young.

“Do you ever feel like you have the whole world on your shoulders?” Clark asks.

“Yeah,” Jim sighs; he’s so familiar with the feeling that he’s pretty sure his shoulders are damaged from the thoughs alone, never mind the pressures themselves. “All the damn time.”

“I’m worried about B for the same reason. He’s just…” He pauses, thinks for a moment. “Ever since he found out that Selina’s pregnant, he’s been so anxious. Which, you know, I understand, but it’s getting worse. I don’t know what to do.”

“Sometimes there isn’t really anything you _can_ do.” Jim places a hand on each of Clark’s shoulders. “B’s stubborn, we both know that. Right now, we just have to be there for him to help ease that weight, rather than attempt to take his world off his shoulders. It’ll throw his axis out of balance.”

Clark nods, almost sullenly. He looks unbelievably disheartened, though Jim knows that he knew the answer before he came here.

Jim sighs. “You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Clark makes a noise like he might cry. “Maybe.”

Jim pats Clark’s cheek reassuringly and presses a kiss to his forehead. He has to stand on his tiptoes to do it, like he has to with Bruce, but it’s a worthy stretch. “Do you need a hug?”

Clark looks at him, and there are tears gathered in his eyes. “Maybe.”

Jim opens his arms, and Clark walks right into them. Jim and Clark don’t hug often, but Jim loves these hugs; Clark is big and broad and constantly warm, like Bruce, and Clark likes to squeeze. 

Just when Jim thinks that Clark is feeling better, he feels a sharp heave of a chest against his, and he feels himself soften.

“I know, kiddo, I know,” he says gently, burying a hand into Clark’s hair and rocking him back and forth slowly, like a mother would a small child. “I know it’s hard. But you’re tough. That heart of yours is tough. You’ll be just fine.”

Clark sniffles loudly. “I’m sorry--”

“You are not allowed to be sorry unless you break something when you’re in my house, okay?” Jim says, just barely twinged with humor. “You’re the world’s greatest super-human. Sometimes the world’s greatest super-human needs to cry on a shoulder and that’s okay. That’s part of being human.” He takes Clark’s face in his hands and holds him away the ever-so-slightest bit. “It’s okay to need someone to cry on. You never have to apologize for coming to me for that. Capiche?”

“Capiche.”

“Good.” Jim pulls him back in and hugs him tight. “Bruce is gonna be fine. I know you know that. I promise, everything will be fine.”

“Yeah,” Clark says softly, nestling his face into the soft leather of Jim’s favorite bomber. “I know.”

Jim sighs ever so softly and wishes that the world would be a bit lighter, just for a second, so that Clark could properly breathe.

__

_you can all sleep sound tonight / i’m not crazy or anything_

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song this chapter is based on: "superman (it's not easy)" by five for fighting


End file.
